


Play With Knives

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Mild Kink, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Noctis had watched him play with knives for all his life. For purely practical reasons, of course.





	Play With Knives

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous request inspired by [this gif.](http://jasperraven.tumblr.com/post/161028463027/kiliphur-blinding-awesomeness)

Noctis had been watching Iggy play with knives all his life.

Ever since his friend had reached the age where he was safe to be cleared for combat practice, Noctis had been there to practice with him.

As Gladio’s training regimen was tailored more towards sure-footed sword-work and self-defense, dual-wielding was not his area of expertise. Before Ignis mastered the craft enough to pass on proper techniques to Noctis, the young adviser had to find tutelage elsewhere.

Noctis remembered that particular tension in Cor’s stature as, twice a week, he chaperoned Ignis’s lessons with the Kingsglaive – and, occasionally, babysat Noctis when he wanted to tag along and watch, even if he wasn’t old enough to start learning himself.

Most of the knights specialized in daggers. The particulars of their powers essentially demanded daggers as the weapons best befitting their talents. While not Cor’s first choice in tutors – the kindest word he could use to describe the Glaive in front of a six-year-old was “rowdy” – they were the only choice. Khara, Ulric, and Lazarus were the best with their blades, according to the Captain. Noctis could still remember the first time he’d trotted alongside Ignis, after his friend had a few lessons on his own, and seeing the thunderous shimmer of warp-strikes overhead before the knights settled down to earth to focus on their student.

He remembered kicking his feet against the steps surrounding the little arena, just next to Cor’s knee as they watched Ignis practice on the sands below. He remembered the stances of the tall, silver-haired glaive as he demonstrated the proper position for each limb in a standard, defensive stance. He remembered Iggy’s astute mimicry of each pose; a tiny, determined mirror to every movement. He remembered being distracted by the idle twists of strange, curved knives in the other glaives’ hands as they waited their turns to impart a different skill onto the boy.

He remembered being terrified and nearly batting at Cor’s leg to warn him that the braided man in the corner was going to cut himself when he tossed a knife into the air, eyes on his partner instead of paying attention to what he was doing. And he remembered being awed and nearly bolting around the little arena to ask him how he’d managed to catch the knife on the hilt without even looking at it.

They did that all the time. As if it were as simple as walking in a straight line. For the longest time, Noctis thought that the Kingsglaive dagger-wielders were magicians and that Ignis was going to be magic when he grew up.

It ended up being not entirely untrue.

Even though Ignis taught him all of the tricks when Noctis was old enough and Ignis had gained enough experience to teach him on his own, there were still things about the man’s knife-work that were nothing short of mystifying. Noctis didn’t think his childhood assumption that the glaives were magicians was completely inaccurate. He could spot the sleight of hand, the misdirection, and the occasional grand-standing involved in knife usage. All meant to distract or overwhelm the enemy before unveiling the finale of the trick – a clean cut through the ribs.

Whether it was military-grade daggers or common kitchen knives, Ignis handled sharp edges with a deadly finesse. Even when he wasn’t actively using them, merely idling his time and giving his hands something to do like Noctis remembered the glaives doing, little thrills of wonder and terror rushed along his spine as he watched.

When he was a kid, Noctis would watch him with the pointed determination of someone who would learn to be just as adept with daggers as Ignis was.

When he got older, he would watch the effortless dexterity of the twists and spins with a different breed of fascination.

It started when they moved in together. The new proximity allowed him an even more intimate venue for his observations. For a while, he excused his lingering glances as nothing more than self-educating; that his intrigue in the flashes of steel was purely for the benefit of his own practice.

While it was definitely for his benefit, it was hardly for his practice.

Pulling up a stool to the kitchen counter and resting his head on his arms to stare at Ignis, pacing and fiddling with a kitchen knife as he studied the recipe for the night’s dinner, was of no value to Noct’s training. In fact, the dry-mouthed, glazed-over stare was entirely counter-productive to it.

Watching Ignis play with knives had grown into Noct’s own personal torment, of a kind he willingly participated in. On the nights where he came home feeling numbed by the icy indifference of all that was expected of him, Iggy’s habitual, absent-minded knife-work was the only thing that made him feel anything again.

Noctis could distract his hurricane thoughts by letting goosebumps rise across his flesh as the dagger slicked through the air. He could let his mind wander away from the chaos of imposed expectations, and instead settle, safely, into the dangers of his own fantasies. He allowed himself to wonder what those expert fingers could do to his own skin. He wondered what it would be like to feel, _really feel_ anything but his own self-constructed agonies.

“Are you alright, Noct?”

He blinked away the haze over his eyes, gaze filtering up from where the dagger had stilled in Iggy’s palm to meet his friend’s quizzical stare. He wondered if he had any right to think of him as a friend anymore, when most of his thoughts for him of later were so far from friendly.

“Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You have that faraway look again. Like you’re off somewhere else.”

_Again._ Noctis felt his pulse skip as he fretted over just how many of his lusting glances Ignis had noticed. He swallowed the barren, coppery taste in his mouth and dragged on a smile.

“It’s just been a long day. Sorry, Specs.”

Ignis considered him for a moment, and it was all Noctis could do to maintain eye-contact as his adviser resumed his thoughtful knife turning.

“Would a small spar help clear your thoughts?” Ignis asked, smiling wryly as he caught the hilt of his dagger. “Clear out the couch, trade a few blows?”

Noctis strangled the heat that threatened to redden his cheeks at where his wanton thoughts took him along that question. He forced himself to nod and fake his way past his terrible desires.

“Sure, sounds good. Really need to blow off some steam.”


End file.
